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Arthur couldn’t shake the tingling in his chest off. It was there ever since they stepped into the forest at dawn, and even now, while the sun set over the mountains, the feeling only danced along his heart. Merlin kept shooting him suspicious glances every time he put his hand on his chest.
“Is something wrong?” His servant finally asked as he stirred the stew over the flames. Even in the dark, Arthur could see the concern in Merlin’s eyes.
He shook his head, but the frown didn’t leave his face. He was so engrossed in his troubling thoughts that he didn’t even notice that Merlin had come over and was crouching right in front of him. The fire behind him gave him an ethereal look, and the tingling only intensified.
“Okay, spit it out. I don’t want to endorse your bad mood tomorrow if you don’t get it off your chest,” Merlin smiled as he said, poking his leg. Arthur knew it would be better if Merlin knew. After all, his magic might help ease him. But then again, he might just make fun of him.
He decided to try it anyway.
“There’s this.. tingling in my chest,” he began, but then at the growing panic in his servant’s eyes, he quickly added, “It’s not painful! It’s not unpleasant either. It’s just… weird.”
As quickly as it had come, the panic faded away, only leaving Merlin with an understanding look in his eyes. “So you feel it too.”
“Feel what- wait, too? You mean you’re having your funny feeling again?” Arthur demanded. The warlock shook his head.
“It’s not a funny feeling, you prat. It’s magic.”
“Magic,” Arthur said dryly. He didn’t have magic. Then how in hell’s name was he feeling magic? “Merlin, I know you’re a bit slow sometimes-”
“Oi!”
“-But even you must know that I don’t have magic.”
Merlin glared at him with burning eyes. “I’m not talking about you. You don’t have magic, fortunately. Triple Goddesses knows your head is as big as your waist already-”
“Treason, Merlin.”
Merlin ignored him as he continued to prattle on, his glare melting into a special smile reserved for him. “-No, this is the magic of the Earth.”
“Magic of the Earth?” Arthur mused. It must be strong if even he could feel it. But it didn’t explain the fondness in Merlin’s eyes as he spoke of it, and it surely didn’t explain the soft smile on his face.
“Yes. It’s truly beautiful, Arthur. I wish you could see it as well.”
Arthur came to a decision. “Show me.”
Merlin stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was joking, but Arthur held on to his steady look, determined to see the magic in the air. The warlock flexed his fingers as he drew closer.
“If you’re sure of it,” he said, licking his lips, and Arthur’s eyes obviously fell on them, which seemed much closer than they were before. Merlin held the King’s face in his hands and rested their foreheads together. Merlin’s breath fell in short puffs on Arthur’s face, and their hearts beat in harmony. Arthur kept his eyes focused on his warlock's blue ones when they glowed and the world around him melted away.
A sound fills the air. Music, Arthur realizes. And not a moment later, he finds the source of the music. It traces back to the soul of the warlock who’s holding him, and it’s a beautiful gold, weaving and unraveling like a tapestry of royal measure. Arthur sees under those closely knit threads and finds a secret, hidden so far behind, but still burning a bright blue. Arthur knows that this vagrant secret of Merlin is his as well.
He pushes past this and momentarily forgets to breathe. The world is drowning in dazzling shades of green and blue and yellow and red and colors he can’t place a name to. He feels like his breathing has fallen asleep and his soul runs down the haphazard paths. The bending road leads to a stream, and a sound fills his ears, sounding suspiciously like a child’s laughter. Gazing into the water, he sees not the liquid he expected, but images so vivid, he would’ve thought they were real. Perhaps they were.
He sees himself and Merlin on a farm, an image tucked away so far into his mind, he’s surprised to see it in front of him. His dreams of words are drowning in the water, rippling with the current flowing through the river.
Arthur walks along the river, and his road leads him to Camelot. But it’s not the Camelot he knows. No, this one is the Camelot that is.
The shabby huts of the lower town have lights flickering through the patches, and the covered stalls are glowing like they hide a torch behind the curtains. The cloth flies in the wind like paper, and Arthur reaches out to grasp it, but it escapes his fingers. His Camelot is beautiful, he notices, and in more than one way. With the twisting and turning of the roads and the magical buildings, his Camelot truly is a sight to behold.
When Arthur turns back, he finds himself back under the shawl of stars, but this time, he sees Merlin’s soul dance along with each twinkling light in the night sky. The wind picks up around him, and his feet lift off the ground like he were a part of the very air.
The magic, he realizes, is truly of the Earth. It’s the air he breathes, and the ground he walks on. It’s in every straw which makes the houses of his people, and it’s in the bricks which make his castle. The magic is his soul, which he sees is a deep red against the sighing green of the forest, and magic is Merlin’s soul, shining brightly as it twirls its way around the stars.
Arthur finds himself looking at his warlock, even with the magic around him, because he hadn’t seen true beauty until now. Until he saw his Merlin. He gazes at the blue threads under his soul and doesn’t even realize that the world has come back into focus. He just looks into Merlin’s eyes, the burning embers fading to the bright blue he knew so well.
They held each other in the embrace, not letting go despite the event being over. A smell wafted in the air as Merlin took a deep breath.
“Something’s burning, Arthur,” he said softly, cradling his king’s face.
Without thinking, Arthur replied in an equally soft tone, “Yeah, my heart is burning for you.”
Like something had snapped in him, Merlin’s eyes grew as wide as saucers as he flung himself back, arms flailing. “What? No! The stew is burning!” He said, running and taking the pot off the fire, seeing if anything could be scavenged.
“Stew? The stew!” Arthur finally came to his senses and he glared at his servant. “Merlin, you absolute idiot! Can’t you get a single thing right! We’re going to starve now because you were unable to realize that the food was burning!”
Merlin glared back at Arthur and pointed a finger at him. “Oh don’t you start, Lord ‘my-heart-burning-for-you.’”
Arthur sighed as he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose softly. He did not mean to let it slip like that. It just sort of… happened. “You’re never going to let me live it down, are you?”
“Of course not, Sire, not when the feeling is mighty reciprocated. Is your mind burning too?” Merlin cheekily said, his glare devoid of the bite, and his words happy.
“Merlin.”
“Shut up?”
Arthur answered him by walking over to him and covering his mouth with his. Merlin responded in an equally enthusiastic manner, and the stew lay forgotten.